Seamless
by HalfBloodDeviant
Summary: Daryl comes back from a hunt caked in mud, and Rick sneaks a peek in the shower. Rickyl slash.


Neither Rick nor Daryl had ever intended for it to happen this way, if they had ever had any intentions at all. As with most things, after the fact, memories took on a different tone of clarity. Shades lifted and gears finally clicked into place. Rick realized he'd always wanted Daryl in that way, and Daryl realized his hawk-eye stares at Rick went beyond protecting the only brother he had left. Things went far beyond "brother" period.

It was after a hunt. With Daryl, it was almost always after a hunt or a run. With the prison secure and the governor seemingly gone for good, that was almost all the redneck had left to do. And Rick had to admit, seeing him come in the gates with a deer and a handful of squirrels was never a disappointing sight. Carl would get to eat, really eat that day, and so would everyone else.

This time, Daryl had come back filthy. It was midsummer in Georgia, and it had stormed on and off for the past few days. By the time it finally stopped, Daryl was antsy. It never did the hunter any good to stay cooped up. He paced around the prison, staring through gray-tinted windows, waiting for the skies to clear. And when they finally did, he grabbed his crossbow and laced up his boots.

The ground in the prison yard squelched beneath their feet as Rick walked him out to the gate that morning, and when Daryl returned in the late afternoon (with three rabbits and a boar), he was caked with mud head to toe.

Most of the cleaning fell to the ex-Woodbury folk these days. They volunteered for it, more comfortable with the inside jobs than the outside jobs. Inside, they could ignore the outside. They didn't have to let go of the sense of security they'd felt in their old home. They didn't say a word about the dried pieces of mud falling off "Mr. Dixon" with every step. He and his food-winning crossbow were too sacred to them. It would take one of their own Atlanta-Farm group to ask.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"Carl," Rick scolded halfheartedly.

"Slipped," was all Daryl said, shrugging it off before he continued on his way. People tended to walk differently when they were that dirty. Some people penguin-stepped, uncomfortable with the feeling of stiff clothes between their limbs. Some people seemed to pull in on themselves, as though they were ashamed of being that filthy. Daryl Dixon walked the same way he always did, like the mud was merely a second skin he could grow and shed at will.

Something about him that day made Rick follow. It was that unconscious sort of follow. You move closer and closer toward the thing you want without realizing what you're doing. You gravitate toward the candy aisle in the supermarket. You find yourself in front of the refrigerator at home, staring into its depths. Or, if you're Rick Grimes, you find yourself in the prison bathroom, surrounded by the sound of shower water bouncing off industrial concrete.

Daryl Dixon rarely showered. For a while, the group thought the man didn't bathe much at all, but on the few times Rick had gone out with him, he'd found Daryl bathed all the time. He just preferred dips in smooth-flowing streams to the man-made rainstorms of the prison or lukewarm baths.

Standing there now, staring at Daryl as he lathered up with a bar of plain white soap, Rick suddenly found it a crime that Daryl didn't shower more often. Soap and water cascaded down his back and thighs, his pale skin slick with it. Rick felt something inside him stir, something that hadn't stirred in a long time.

Rick had a brief flashback to high school locker rooms, to a boy named Shane, towel around his waist and hair soaking wet, to staring a little too long and having Pete Slidell call him "fag" for a week until he realized it wasn't going to catch on so long as the target of the too-long-look wasn't in on it. To marrying Lori, wanting Lori, and still feeling a little pang of regret when he saw Shane standing beside him at the altar out of the corner of his eye.

He lost himself in those thoughts, in the trails of soapy water morphing around each tiny curve of Daryl's body. They warped around his thighs, trailed over the contours of his ass. Something besides his insides stirred.

Daryl Dixon cleared his throat at the same time Rick realized the view had changed entirely.

"The hell are you doing?"

Rick's eyes darted up Daryl's body to meet his. He didn't have time to adjust his pants and hide his obviously visible erection, because Daryl's eyes were already on it. Rick swore at himself in his head. He couldn't tell anything by watching Daryl's face. His eyes were blank and dark. He never understood how blue eyes could seem so dark and mysterious, but there they were.

"Daryl," Rick started, stopped. What could he say? He didn't have an excuse. Really, it was a shitty thing to do, to watch someone shower like that, but he hadn't meant to. What was he supposed to do about something he hadn't really meant to do? Going seemed like the only option. Go and never talk about it again. Rick spun toward the door right around the time Daryl opened his mouth.

"You gonna use that thing or what?"

Rick froze and slowly turned back.

"What?" But Daryl didn't have to answer. Rick was already moving toward the bench on the wall where Daryl's muddy clothes were piled next to clean ones. Daryl watched quietly, his eyes still dark, but Rick could finally see something in them. If lust had concentration levels, Daryl's eyes would have been at 100%. The hunter didn't half-ass much, and sultry looks seemed to be included. The entire time Rick unbuttoned his shirt and worked off his boots and jeans, he could feel the other man eyefucking him into the ground.

The bathroom was stuffy with July heat, but that didn't stop goosebumps from making their way up Rick's arms while he stepped toward the running shower. Daryl turned around, silently offering himself up to Rick. Some little voice in Rick's head said quietly, _he's done this before._

But so had Rick. In a haze of alcohol after everyone else had left the bachelor party, he and Shane had warred for dominance on the hotel bed, fucking each other raw, too drunk to care about how loud they were groaning or about the questionable stains they were leaving on the white sheets. They never said a word about it after . He often wondered if Shane even remembered. If he'd realized how deep his betrayal ran when he'd bedded Lori.

But this seemed different. There wouldn't be a war here. Still, Rick wasn't ready to dive right in.

"Turn back around," he said. Something about Daryl's quiet submission made it easier to ask for what he wanted. The hunter obliged without question. Everything about him said he was awaiting orders. He deferred to Rick like he always did, and the idea that Rick could have anything he wanted from him sent a dirty little thrill through his body.

He imagined Daryl on his knees in the shower, those pink lips stretched around his cock, the precise way his voice would sound if Rick took him by the hair and fucked his throat.

But that wasn't what the officer wanted, not really.

Rick grasped Daryl by the back of the neck. He felt Daryl starting to sink down in anticipation—apparently their thoughts weren't that much different—but he stopped him, pulling his mouth into his. Rick had forgotten how much different it was to kiss a man. Daryl's mouth was soft, if a little chapped, but Rick could feel the other man's facial hair brushing against his lips with each tiny movement. Daryl groaned softly, clearly happier with this decision than the one he had expected. Rick pulled him closer. If that's what made Daryl groan, Rick was happy to give him more.

Their erections brushed together briefly in the embrace of the kiss, and Rick felt Daryl gasp quietly into his mouth, more at the idea of pleasure than the moment of contact. Rick broke the kiss and reached down to press their cocks together, gripping them both in his hand, working his hips so his member rubbed slowly against the hunter's. Daryl's eyes fluttered closed. He opened them, pressed his forehead against Rick's. Rick didn't have to watch where Daryl's eyes went to know the other man was watching the point where they met. He moved his hips too, hungry for more.

Rick let it ride for a bit, watching the way the way the two of them moved together. It felt as natural as the way they acted when they were on a run. He realized now how seamless of an entity they really were and it seemed so silly now that this was the first time this was happening.

Rick let go of them both. Daryl groaned in frustration as the sensation ended, but Rick had already flipped him around, pressing him against the concrete wall. Then came the struggle to get inside of him. Rick used his body to block the stream of water from Daryl's back. He shoved his fingers into Daryl's mouth, letting the hunter suck on them and cover them with spit. He used his own too, slicking everything up with as much saliva as possible, careful not the let the stream of shower water wash it all away. He would've killed for lube. But he had to admit that everything felt filthier and needier and dirtier this way. And finally he was able to ease inside, Daryl's muscles relaxing and inviting him in.

Rick's head fell back as he enjoyed the heat surrounding him for a moment. Then he pinned Daryl's wrists to the wall. He regretted it for a moment, looking at the scars crisscrossing the hunter's back. He almost let go, but Daryl, almost sensing the question in his head, pushed back onto Rick, letting him know he wanted more. Rick kissed the back of his neck and pushed in deep.

"Goddamn," Daryl grunted, his face turned to the side, cheek pressed against the concrete. Rick enjoyed the way the hunter's wet hair clung to his face, the way Daryl scrunched up the corner of his eyes in pleasure . He thrust in again. Daryl said his name as though it finished the sentence to which "goddamn" had been the beginning.

Daryl was all heat and pressure around Rick, a vice-grip of intensity milking waves of pleasure out of him. All at once, he both desperately wanted to cum and never wanted it to end. He felt the first was more likely as he thrust Daryl into the wall again and again. He let one of Daryl's wrists free and reached around to grip his cock in his hand, pumping it with each thrust.

The sound that came out of Daryl's mouth was half-moan, half-growl. It was a sound that was all his own, sexy and animalistic. Rick pumped harder, wanting and needing to hear it more. He lost himself in a frenzy of friction and in every groan and grunt and gasp from the other man. Water slid down his back in smooth, cool rivulets. He shook his head to fling his wet hair out of his face, and then he leaned forward and bit down on one of Daryl's massive shoulders.

"Fuck," Daryl said, his nails digging at the concrete a little. Rick felt Daryl's cock twitch in his hand. Felt the telltale signs of a man on the edge. He wanted to take him over it. Not a gentle climb or a nudge. He wanted to grab him and throw them both violently over the fucking side.

"Daryl. Do it." Rick said. It was both an encouragement and an order. At the same time, he thrust in deep. Daryl pressed his mouth into the concrete, using it to muffle the sound as he cried out, his loud groans followed by tiny desperate whimpers . Rick felt it all ending and pulled out right before he let go, spilling onto the back of Daryl's thighs and the shower floor while Daryl came all over the wall.

He leaned on the hunter while he caught his breath, the shower water the only thing that let him enjoy Daryl's closeness in the oppressive heat. Briefly, he wondered how Glenn and Maggie could sleep in the same bed. But the thought was gone as Daryl started trying to turn beneath him. Rick eased up, anticipating Daryl leaving wordlessly, leaving Rick to decide what was going on now. But instead, Daryl kissed him. It was a kind of kiss Rick knew, but it took him a second to recognize it from different lips.

Lori had kissed him like that. The second time they'd slept together in high school and the first time she'd had an orgasm with him. The first one she hadn't given herself.

It was a thank you, one last gift from Daryl before it was all over.

Daryl laid his head briefly on Rick's shoulder before his physical contact meter ran out of juice . He dressed quickly.

"Need to get that wild hog ready for dinner," he said, breaking the awkward silence while he tied up his boots. He gathered his muddy clothes and stood up to leave, Rick still naked under the shower water, unable to tear his eyes away.

"Daryl," he said quietly. The other man stopped, listening but not turning back. "Next time you're on a run, look for..." Rick trailed off, unable to say the final word, "lube." So they could do this again, so Daryl would know he wasn't some cheap one night stand. But now that the frenzy was over, he realized how risky this had been, that anyone could've walked in, that anyone could be listening now. Walkers or not, it was still Georgia. How would they react to two of their leaders banging in the communal showers?

Rick started trying to think of something to say when Daryl inevitably asked him for the rest of the sentence. He could say a lot of things—"baby shoes," "comic books," or a simple "never mind." But Daryl didn't ask. He nodded once. Somehow, he'd understood. He always did.

"I will," Daryl said, and Rick heard the rest of the words tied to it, the most important of which were _I want you too. _He watched Daryl disappear completely before he slipped back into his clothes and headed for the prison yard.


End file.
